


Eclairs, Invitations, and New Year's Eve

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avenger Loki (Marvel), Bakery and Coffee Shop, Blind Date, F/M, Fluff, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, Reader-Insert, Stark Tower, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: A mysterious package shows up on your doorstep, throwing your plans of doing nothing aside from going to work on New Year’s Eve awry. Are you really prepared to go to a holiday party hosted by Tony Stark, though?Especially if your favorite customer is also probably going to be there?
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 299





	Eclairs, Invitations, and New Year's Eve

The first time you see Loki Laufeyson, he’s sitting at one of the small tables a short distance away from the bakery counter where you work in the atrium of Stark Tower, poring over a newspaper. “Is that… is that who I think it is?” you whisper to Preeti, who’s worked here longer than you and seems significantly more knowledgeable about all of the strange goings-on in the Tower.

She glances up from the cake she’s frosting. “Who, Loki? Yeah. I think he retreats down here sometimes when he’s in a bad mood. He always kind of just… sits there. He’ll order a coffee, but that’s about all he ever says.” She shrugs. “Not a very friendly dude.”

“Huh.”

He’s handsome, and just as intimidating as he appeared on TV and in magazines, despite the fact that he’s dressed casually and seems almost bored with whatever article he’s reading. He takes the occasional sip from his mug, and you try not to stare too much, though it’s difficult to resist the urge.

_ A real life superhero, sitting right here in front of me. _

You knew working at Stark Tower would be cool, even if you’re just in the atrium and not in one of the fancy labs or offices upstairs, but you weren’t really prepared to have famous people and aliens and billionaires stopping by for their morning pastries and mid-afternoon coffee breaks. Somehow, you’d assumed that they had people to do that for them, but you guess maybe they enjoy leaving work for a little bit and just relaxing like normal people.

It’s surreal, but it makes you look forward to each and every day, no matter how long and tiring they might be.

Loki comes down with one of his books a bit later than usual; he’s typically already in his spot by the time you get to work in the mornings, and he isn’t someone you think would respond well to attempts at meaningless small talk, so you’ve always just watched him from the corner of your eye and wished that he’d come back up to the counter for seconds. On this particular morning, however, now that you  _ finally _ have your chance to speak to him, you find yourself strangely tongue-tied.

“I’ll take a coffee,” he says, his eyes roaming the display case of pastries. “And… a muffin?”

“Sure,” you reply a bit too quickly, and you knock the tongs onto the floor when you go to retrieve his muffin. Since when do you have shaky hands? You silently curse and toss them into the sink, then go to retrieve a clean pair. “Sorry,” you tell him.

“No need to be,” he says. 

When you sneak a peek at him a while later, you realize that he’s watching you from the corner of his eye, too. You quickly snap your attention back to the customer in front of you, your cheeks warm.  _ Way to get caught being creepy, _ you tell yourself.  _ Poor guy probably gets stared at wherever he goes, as it is. _

He starts arriving later, more often than not, and while he doesn’t say anything about it, you’re secretly grateful for your tiny exchanges each morning. He’s always pleasant, even if he does little more than place his order and thank you when you hand it to him, and you kind of love just hearing him talk. His voice is soft and smooth, and warm enough that it could probably melt butter. You start to look forward to seeing him almost every morning, even though your brain seems to short-circuit whenever he makes small talk.

Sometimes, he brings his brother Thor with him, and he makes you feel star-struck, too, but he doesn’t give you the same sort of fluttery nervousness that Loki does. You try not to ponder that too much.

Loki never seems to know what to order, but he almost never gets a coffee, these days; he almost always spends a few moments standing at the counter deliberating. You haven’t been able to figure out if he’s got any particular favorites, but he almost always gets something sweet.

He’s been considering the pastries on display for a few minutes already today, tapping his finger against his chin. You decide to be brave.

“If I can make a recommendation?” He looks up at you expectantly when you speak, and you clear your throat. “Try the eclairs. The chocolate-covered ones have a custard filling, and they’re amazing.”

“You like them?” he asks.

“They’re my favorite. If I could eat them all and not get fired, I would.”

He smiles at you. “Alright, then,” he says. “An eclair it is.”

After that, Loki Laufeyson gets an eclair from the bakery almost every single day. Even if he doesn’t make it down to the atrium in the morning, he’ll stop by for dessert after lunch, or he’ll come by right before your shift ends. He still doesn’t say much - and when Thor’s with him, he says even less - but he always smiles, and he always sits in the same seat, reading a book or a newspaper.

The year winds to a close, and you’re pretty satisfied with how your life’s been going lately; you enjoy your job, and everyone at work is nice. You get free breakfast and lunch every day, and while your apartment situation isn’t the best in the world, you spend so much time in Stark Tower that it hardly matters. 

Things are slow during the holiday season, and you and Preeti are splitting a donut that ended up looking too unfortunate to sell after the frosting melted.  _ Delicious, _ you think, e _ ven if it isn’t the prettiest one I’ve ever decorated. _

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” Preeti asks. 

You laugh and gesture at the bakery case. “Working,” you reply. “As usual. You know this place never shuts down with all the workaholics we have as customers.”

“That sucks.”

“I don’t mind. I didn’t have plans, anyway. It should be a pretty slow day, hopefully.”

“Are you doing anything on New Year’s, at least? For your birthday?”

“Nah. Maybe I’ll treat myself to one of those ridiculously overpriced hot chocolates from the espresso shop around the corner.”

Preeti sighs. “You’re being dumb,” she says. “No offense. At least let me buy you lunch or something? A little mini-celebration?”

“Okay, yeah,” you relent. “That sounds nice. I guess it won’t hurt to do something a little special.”

“Of course it won’t!”

You shush her, because Thor Odinson is peering curiously at the two of you from over his cheese danish, and somehow, you worry about seeming too goofy in front of him, like it might somehow affect his brother’s opinion of you.  _ If _ his brother has any opinion of you at all. You know it’s a stupid fear; you really doubt literal gods chat about the bakery girl that works downstairs.

_ Still. _

You’re a little disappointed that Loki hasn’t shown up by the time you close up for the day, but you tell yourself you’re just being silly. The man can’t possibly crave eclairs every single day, even if he seems to have a notable sweet tooth. Besides, for all you know, he’s off on a mission somewhere. Or a date.

You trudge through the snow to the train, listening to music and wondering why you feel so restless. It’s dark when you make it back to your apartment, and none of your roommates are around, so you kick off your boots and flop on the couch, deciding to watch some TV while you unwind. There are still tons of holiday movies playing, picture-perfect, cheesy Hallmark types with their ridiculous love-at-first sight stories; normally, you don’t mind them, but for some reason, you’re finding them a little hard to bear today.

Sighing, you flip it over to a baking show, and you’re asleep within ten minutes.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re irritated with yourself for falling asleep on the couch. You grumble and stretch and head to the bathroom to shower and get dressed. There’s still no sign of your roommates, but there  _ is _ a package waiting in the hall when you open the door. Perplexed, you pick it up, searching for a return address. There isn’t one.

“Mystery,” you say, and you kick the door closed behind you as you set the box down on your countertop and grab a pair of scissors to carefully slice open the packing tape. There’s a sparkly, emerald bundle of fabric in the box, and when you pull it out, a crisp white envelope falls to the floor.

“Crap,” you mutter to yourself, shaking out what appears to be a very elegant evening gown. “I think I just opened someone else’s mail. That’s a crime, isn’t it?”

Either way, you figure you might as well open up the envelope, so that maybe you can at least make sure that the package gets to where it’s supposed to be. You tear it open, and there’s a smaller, silver envelope inside - this one with your first name on it. You stare at it, your confusion increasing exponentially. Maybe Preeti and the guys from work decided to send you something for your birthday, but an evening gown seems like a really odd choice.

When you open the smaller envelope, you’re stunned to discover that it contains an invitation to the New Year’s Eve party in Tony Stark’s penthouse in Stark Tower. You flip over the envelope again, just to double-check that it is, in fact, your name on the envelope. 

_ What in the world…? _

You dig through the tissue paper in the box, looking for something else to help explain everything, but all you find are a pair of dangerously-high heels and a gift card to one of the fancy salons near the Tower, one that you’ve heard Pepper Potts mention on the phone while she’s waiting for her breakfast muffin. It’s not the kind of place you can afford… and the gift card doesn’t have an amount on it.

The dress itself is beautiful and ostentatious, and something that you highly doubt you’d ever pick out for yourself. You decide to embrace the madness and hurry off to your room to try it on, even more confused when you find that it fits rather well. The fabric is rich and silky, with a latticework of shining silver patterns embroidered on the tulle sheath that encases it. You stare at yourself in the mirror, fidgeting with your hair. 

_ Am I still dreaming? _

Maybe this is some sort of holiday bonus, or maybe it’s a gift from the Starks themselves - they’re pretty generous, and they seem to like to think of the Tower as a close-knit mini-community, despite the thousands of people who work there. You have always been friendly and as professional as possible when celebrities and superheroes stop by for a donut or a slice of cake, so maybe this is just your reward for good service. 

_ But I still have to work today, _ you remind yourself. After a moment’s hesitation, you fold up the gown and tuck it into the duffel bag you carry to work, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, accompanied by the heels, and then you stick the gift card in your wallet. You don’t really belong at one of Tony Stark’s high-class parties, but maybe… 

“I’ll think about it,” you tell your reflection. “We’ll see.”

It’s a slow day at the shop. You guess everyone must be off doing holiday things, or maybe they’re just trying to save calories for all of the NYE parties tonight. Still, there are enough people stopping by that you can’t really justify abandoning ship for something as frivolous as a party - a party that you’ll probably be super awkward at, anyway.

Then, the toaster oven just completely stops working. You’re still fidgeting with it when the lights in the display case flicker out, and when you try to ring up the customer that tells you he doesn’t mind a cold slice of pie, the register blue-screens. “I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “It’s on the house.”

It’s almost like the power has been cut to the entire shop, save for the emergency lights. Maintenance doesn’t answer when you try to give them a call, and when you do get in touch with your boss, she tells you that there probably isn’t much of a chance of them getting things fixed on a holiday afternoon. “Just enjoy the rest of the day,” she tells you. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Your duffle bag sits beneath the counter, practically calling out to you. You debate with yourself for a moment or two, then you shoulder it and head for the atrium. You’re going to see how much the salon can manage to glam you up with whatever’s on the gift card you recieved.

When they scan it, though, they won’t tell you how much is on it - just that you can ‘have anything you want, and then some.’ Your hair and makeup is pristine by the time they’re done with you, your nails a shining silver that you’re assured will be perfect for a New Year’s Eve party. You’ve never felt so utterly spoiled in your entire life, and you’re enjoying it more than you probably should, considering you doubt you’ll ever be able to afford it again.

“Big plans for the evening?” one of the ladies asks, and you shrug.

“I think so,” you reply. “I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“Your date’s going to fall head over heels.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “I don’t have a date.”

She gives you an appraising glance. “Well,” she says, “you shouldn’t have any problem getting one, if you want one, even if it’s kind of last-minute.”

“Thanks,” you tell her, blushing. 

You figure there’s no point in trying to go home; it’s already almost time for the party to start, and you’ll just get wind-tossed and messy on your way to the subway. Instead, you go change in one of the bathrooms in the employee break room on the bottom floor of the Tower, carefully wiggling into your fancy dress and taking a few hesitant steps in your sparkly stiletto heels. They actually aren’t uncomfortable, but it’s been a while since you’ve worn anything quite so high, so your steps are a little wobbly. 

_ I’m going to fall on my ass,  _ you think,  _ and make a complete fool of myself. _

Still, you’ve gone too far to turn back now, so you square your shoulders and march yourself out and stow your things in your locker, then you head for the elevator that goes all the way to the top of the Tower. There’s an attendant in a suit standing by the elevator, smiling and welcoming other guests, all of them elegant and very obviously wealthy.

You wonder if your current getup could fool anyone into thinking  _ you’re _ elegant and wealthy.

The attendant nods and motions you onto the elevator when you show him your invitation, and you step into the back corner, your palms sweating.  _ This is going to be fun, _ you tell yourself.  _ If nothing else, it’ll make a neat story. There should be a lot of fancy free food. Rubbing elbows with famous people. Breathe. _

The penthouse is decked out in silver and gold and bright lights, and while you aren’t the only guest wearing colors, it seems that the vast majority of the other party-goers have chosen to wear shades of silver or black.  _ Great, _ you think.  _ Just what I wanted - another way to stand out. _

You snag a drink and retreat to one of the walls, admiring the painting above the settee that probably cost a small fortune. The drink is gone a bit more quickly than you’d intended, and when you go to hand the empty glass off to a waiter, you find yourself face to face with Loki, returning an empty glass of his own.

He stares at you, his eyes wide. You duck your head and fidget with your dress as the waiter strolls off, feeling even more self-conscious than before.  _ I stick out like a sore thumb here,  _ you think.  _ This is stupid. Why did I even— _

“Eclair girl,” Loki says. “You’re here.”

“I got an invitation,” you tell him, trying to resist the urge to retreat when he steps close - closer than he’s ever been, now that there’s no counter to separate you. “I thought that maybe Mr. Stark decided to invite everyone who worked in the building, or something like that.”

“I see.” His eyes rake down your body, and he clears his throat. “Your dress…”

“Is it too much, you think? Someone sent it to me as a gift, along with the invitation… I figured I might as well wear it.” You let out a nervous little laugh. “It’s pretty sparkly.”

“It’s lovely. You look lovely.”

Now you’re the one staring helplessly at him, because you can’t think of anything clever to say to that. There’s a pause that lasts just a bit too long for comfort, and then you decide that complimenting him is probably the most socially-appropriate thing to do. “You look nice, too.”

Loki looks down at himself, almost like he’d forgotten that he was all dressed up. “Yes,” he says, “well, I was told that I should dress to impress, as I was to have a companion for the evening.”

“A companion?”

“A ‘date,’ I believe my brother called it.” 

“Oh.” Your heart falls. “With who?”

“A girl in a green dress,” he replies, and a teasing sort of sparkle appears in his eyes. “You haven’t happened to see one of those around, have you?”

“Just me,” you tell him. Your skin feels hot; you wonder why. “Want me to help you look?”

“I’d be delighted.” 

He offers you his arm, and you take it, blushing when he glances down at you. From this close, you can clearly make out the flecks of grey in his eyes, and he smells like fresh mint and something that reminds you of thick evergreen forests and crisp snow. 

“Do you have any other clues about your mystery date?” you ask lightly, trying to distract yourself from the curious glances being turned your way. “Any hints as to who she might be?”

“Someone sweet, according to Thor.  _ You _ wouldn’t happen to be sweet, would you?”

If your face wasn’t on fire before, it certainly is now. “I… I don’t know.”

“What a predicament,” Loki laments, slipping his hand around your waist as you pause by one of the large balcony doors. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen a single other person dressed in green at this party, and certainly no one else particularly sweet.”

“Oh?”

“It seems that you are also here alone.”

“Yep,” you reply. You wish your heart would stop racing quite so eagerly. “Just me and my sparkly dress.”

“Then, it seems reasonable to conclude that I have already found my mystery date for the evening, doesn’t it?” He winks, and it doesn’t help your pulse in the slightest. “I think we can declare this case closed.”

“We can?”

“We can,” he repeats, nodding with faux solemnity. “But, you will have to promise to dance with me, for it will be a terrible waste if I’m not able to show you off this evening - you  _ and _ your sparkly dress.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’d love to, Loki.”

**Author's Note:**

> A fic for amaru163, who’s celebrating a birthday when the New Year rolls around! It’s also on tumblr. Happy New Year, everyone! 🥳


End file.
